


Billie's Hand

by Neriad13



Series: Explicit One-Shots [6]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Masturbation, Other, Quiet Sex, VOID HANDS, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 08:44:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14849528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neriad13/pseuds/Neriad13
Summary: Billie isn't so sure about this latest gift from the Outsider.Better give it a test run.





	Billie's Hand

Billie couldn’t remember why she’d initially stopped masturbating with her right hand. 

She was right-handed by nature - had been all her life. She’d learned to hold a sword in that hand, shoot from that hand, write from that hand. It was the one that held silverware when she ate, the one that scrubbed down the mess in the galley kitchen, the one that passed the whiskey to the next drinking buddy over. 

Likewise, it was the hand she’d once trusted most to get the job done. 

The fingers of her left hand had always been a bit clumsier, a little less responsive. It was never quite as good with that hand as it was with the other. 

And yet, night after night, for the past handful of years, she’d found herself automatically doing just that and only realizing her mistake after she’d finished. In her moments of post-orgasmic clarity, she’d lift her right hand to her eyes and feel, just for an instant, that it was a foreign thing that didn’t belong to her. 

The thought was always forgotten in the rush of morning chores and pushed aside in favor of her ongoing pursuit into Daud’s whereabouts. It was usually about midafternoon, after a day of writing letters and running about, that the ache in her arm would start up again, sharply reminding her that something was wrong. The headaches were getting worse too, leaving her laying in bed in complete darkness until they subsided. 

She figured that she ought to see a doctor about both issues, but somehow, there was always something more important to do beforehand. Swab the deck. Butcher the fish she’d bought for dinner. Pursue this new lead before it went cold. Spend another hour agonizing over what to write back to Emily. It was put off for one week and then the next and then the next, until…

…she no longer had a flesh and blood arm to be concerned about.

***

Daud was snoring in the next room over. She could hear him, even through the bulkhead door. The sound brought a smile to her face and the memory of nights spent under leaking roofs among friends. Her and her old Whaler cohorts - they had always dared one another to chuck a pillow at Daud, to stuff a few wads of tissue paper up his nose and transverse before he could wake up. No one had ever done it, of course, but hope sprang eternal that someone would have the courage one day.

Now, she only found the sound comforting. 

She’d need to be a lot more comfortable to work herself up to what she was about to do. 

She sat at her desk, inspecting the mechanism that held her new arm to her elbow as best she could in the lantern light. It wasn’t attached as solidly as it felt. There was a leather brace running around the curve of her elbow that held it in place. Near as she could tell, there were three long shards of bone attached to that, which tapered together until they terminated in the metallic-looking hand that glittered in the darkness. 

As though she’d done it a thousand times, she reached over and undid the belt that held it in place. Something crackled in the phantom nerves of her missing arm and the hand vanished. The brace and its charms dangled from her good hand, an inert object with none of the magic from before. She set it on the desk and quickly, with a practiced fluidity that surprised her, undid her belt. When that was done, she reached over to undo the clasps on her jacket. 

At the time, she’d thought that using fish hooks instead of buttons was a splendid idea. It saved her a bit of coin and in the underworld, it paid to look a little more prickly. But undoing fish hook clasps one-handed was not exactly something she’d planned on. She did it carefully, being sure not to prick her fingers on the needle ends. 

She stood up, shrugged the jacket off of her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Beneath it, she wore only a sweat-stained undershirt. The stump of her arm was bare to see. 

For a moment, she inspected the jagged scar where her arm had been not even twelve hours ago. It looked angry and puckered and somewhere in her mind, the memory of how it had happened floated to the surface and sunk again before she could get ahold if it. She ran her fingers over it, feeling the ridge of the scar on her flesh, the slightly dulled feeling in the skin stretched over the old wound. 

She felt as though she should be afraid, what with the Outsider taking her arm and healing it into a healthy stump in the span of seconds. But in reality, all she felt was peace with what had happened. It was _her_ stump. And it didn’t hurt anymore. 

She was a bit less comfortable with the lump of rock he'd shoved into her face and secretly thankful that she wasn’t in the habit of keeping mirrors around. She _saw_ things with it that she'd rather not have seen. When she closed her other eye, she saw them still, inescapable to an eye unable to stop watching. She didn't know if she'd ever get used to that.

Next was her boots. The cot creaked under her as she sat down and stripped them off. Her dirty socks were thrown into the pile with her jacket and she wiggled her free toes in the stuffy shipboard air. 

Her sword belt came off next. She stepped out of the loop steadying it against her leg and carefully laid it down on the desk chair. 

She popped the button on her pants one-handed and let them fall to her ankles, before kicking herself free. Her nipples, under the thin fabric of the undershirt, were beginning to grow hard. She squeezed her left breast beneath the fabric for a moment, thumbing the nipple, feeling it harden even further as she stroked it. And then she dropped her hand and pulled her undershirt over her head. In it went into the pile, her underwear soon to follow. 

She ran a finger over the slick fold of her outer labia and brought her finger to her nose. Her scent was the same as always. A great many things had changed in the past day, but that had not. She wiped her finger on her hip and took a step towards the desk. 

It was quite a bit more awkward, getting the harness that held her arm in place back on. On the first try, she’d struggled to brace it against the wall and cinch it tight enough. It’d slipped off her stump the moment she’d let go. The second time, she did it more slowly and tightened it a bit further beyond what she thought was going to be comfortable. 

A soft cry rose in her throat as a crackle of electricity ran down her arm and the scent of ozone bloomed in the air. The bones sparked with light and with that, the hand had taken form again.

She pulled aside the covers and laid down. With her normal hand, she touched the other experimentally. It was as smooth as polished metal. She could see brass tendons running down the back of her hand, fingernails formed from chips of dark stone. If she looked down the back of her wrist, it was strangely hollow inside. 

She flexed her fingers. It was a peculiar thing, having sensation in a limb that was so plainly not her own. She had felt the profiles of the rulers on the coin she had handled today. She had touched the curtains in a nobleman’s house and felt their softness. She had felt the coolness of shadowed stone beneath her fingertips. 

Her thighs pulsing in anticipation, she parted her legs and slowly lowered the Outsider's gift between them. It was slightly lower in temperature than the rest of her body, but the coolness felt comforting on her hot lips, on her slick opening. She lazily swirled a finger around the edges of her vagina before flicking her clit with her thumb. She arched into the touch and closing her eye, rubbed it a few more times. 

For a moment, she half-believed that she was playing with a toy. It was too hard and smooth to be flesh, too cold to be something alive. But through it she could feel the pulse in her groin and the heat of her body. She bent her pointer finger into a crook and gently stroked her g-spot from the inside. With the heel of her thumb, she rubbed her clit in soft, back and forth motions. 

Daud snorted from outside, practically honking through his nose before settling back down. Billie laughed to herself, the sound barely more than a breathy whisper in her throat. There was something so hot to her about getting off so close to an authority figure and going unnoticed. She’d spent her teenage years concealing her nighttime doings from the older Whalers in charge of the communal sleeping quarters. Perhaps once or twice, she’d laid on the couch of some nobleman’s house she’d just broken into and pleasured herself to the sounds of the City Watch milling about below. But that’d been a very long time ago, when she was young and had not yet learned to be wary of masked felons in the shadows.

She slipped a second finger into her vagina and brought over her left hand to circle her clit. She clenched around her own fingers, moving her butt to the rhythm of her gentle thrusts. The cot creaked under her. A tremor of worry shivered through her at the sound. Would Daud hear? Would he lay there in bed, knowing what she was doing, imagining it in his head? 

She clenched her teeth, her hand getting rougher with her clit, her fingers tickling the inside of her in more and more infuriating ways. She felt the twinge of feeling inside herself that precedes orgasm and leaned into it, keeping her rhythm steady, shutting out the creak of the cot from her senses and the sound of Daud shifting on his cot. 

Her thoughts faded away as the orgasm took over. She rubbed her clit a few more times, lengthening the experience until her energy was sapped to nothing. She curled her toes and relaxed into bed, taking her hands from her crotch and laying them by her sides. She supposed she should clean up before going to sleep, but for the time being, she was content to lie still, listening to the sound of the ocean lapping against the hull and pull of air through Daud’s nose. 

She lifted her right arm and looked at it carefully in the flickering glow of the lantern. It was slick with her own wetness and warmer than it had been before she had put it inside herself. The metallic shell that made up the appendage seemed softer to her and a little more pliable than it had been. She stroked her brassy knuckles and just for a moment, thought she felt the softness of her lost skin. 

For the first time in forever, it seemed to her that it wasn’t a foreign object, but something that had always been a part of her. She held it to her chest and felt the beating of her heart beneath her bone-charm palm. 

There were so many things in this world that she had no control over. Whether those she loved lived or died. What had become of her old eye and arm. The whims of old Void gods scheduled for death. She knew so little of where any of it would lead, but for now, as she basked in the last dregs of her pleasure, she felt that it was going to be alright.


End file.
